


A convenient marriage

by Lyss2011



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mutual Pining, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23650009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyss2011/pseuds/Lyss2011
Summary: Love, Merlin thought, caressing the word and signature with his thumb. Arthur was courting someone whom he loved. And who he loved was Mithian. What else could the M stand for?In which Merlin and Arthur have a marriage of convenience, Merlin falls in love with Arthur, and Arthur courts someone who couldn't possibly be Merlin.
Relationships: Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Leon/Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 414
Collections: Merthur Glompfest 2020





	1. In which Merlin proposes

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [mega_mathi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mega_mathi/pseuds/mega_mathi) in the [Merthur_Glompfest_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Merthur_Glompfest_2020) collection. 



> Based on _The Convenient Marriage_ by Georgette Heyer.
> 
> mega_mathi: Sorry this is so late. I got a bit carried away from my original plan, but hopefully it's what you were looking for!
> 
> Mods: Thank you for putting up with me and for holding this fest.

Merlin glared into the magical artillery book he’d been asked to read that week, not even allowing his lips to move over the unfamiliar spells as he usually did. He had a feeling if he parted his lips for any reason he would burst out in an angry tirade. Again. It would be particularly bad if he were to accidentally murmur one of the spells now, when he had enough fury to give the words power and intent, for as upset as he was with his mother, he did not wish to shoot her. 

The rest of the room was silent but for the crackle of wood in the fireplace. Merlin's mother, Lady Emrys, was contentedly embroidering new handkerchiefs with the initials LP, appearing ignorant of the thick tension emanating from her two sons. Lancelot was staring at a pile of letters, most likely trying to memorize them before his conscience demanded he burn them. 

The entrance of a maid broke the silence but not the tension. "Mr. Emrys," she said, "Miss Smith has arrived. She is waiting in your study." 

Lancelot nearly leaped from his seat in his hurry to see Gwen, barely acknowledging his mother as he passed her. 

"It is for the best, you know that Merlin," his mother said, catching his eye as he watched the closing door sadly. 

"It is _not_ for the best!" he argued. "You know as well as I that Mr. Pendragon only wishes to marry an Emrys. He needs our name, but he doesn't need Lancelot, particularly when Gwen needs Lancelot and he needs her!"

Lady Emrys sighed, setting down her embroidery to give Merlin her full attention. "If Gwen had obtained a Captaincy, I may have been persuaded to allow the match, but they were both aware that as it stood, their relationship would not last. Lance has chosen his path, Merlin. In deference to their feelings I have allowed Lancelot to tell Guinevere in person, but that is all I can allow. We can not have our reputation in tatters just when things are starting to go well for the family.” 

"It isn't right," Merlin muttered insistently, and turned his eyes back to his text. Lancelot should not have had to sacrifice himself for the family, but he was too noble for his own good, and always had been. Lancelot and Gwen had been in love for years now, and the only reason they were not married was Gwen's lack of dowry and low income. Were she ever to be promoted, her salary may have been enough to bring the Emrys estate back from the brink, but when it came down to it, Gwen had not obtained a Captaincy, and Pendragon's proposal involved quite a bit more money than Gwen would ever be able to make. So Lance, against his heart's wishes, would accept Pendragon's proposal when it formally occurred later that afternoon, to save the family. 

_There has to be another solution_ , Merlin thought somewhat desperately. His professors always taught him that there were multiple solutions to every problem. Some may be more favoured than others, but there was always a choice. Of course, they were referring to the usage of magic to solve problems, but Merlin assumed the same applied in other situations. There was no perfect solution in this case; at least one person suffered in every scenario he could come up with, but he would make sure it wasn't Lance. 

Not twenty minutes later, Merlin almost ran into Gwen on his way out the door. Her eyes were red but she had stopped crying and was attempting to compose herself before leaving the townhouse. Merlin wasted no time in pulling her aside. 

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I have a plan. It’ll all be alright, and Lance won’t have to marry Pendragon.” 

“But- but how?” she asked, a few tears slipping down her cheeks unchecked. “Lance told me already, it’s hopeless.”

“It’s not. I have a plan, Gwen, just don’t give up hope.” He squeezed her gloved hand urgently. 

“You’re not--? You cannot use magic, Merlin,” she admonished him. “Not for this. You know the consequences, surely you have learned the consequences?” Abruptly he was reminded of all the times growing up, when he’d been so sure his magic would solve any problem, save anyone. Every tutor he’d had had taught him of the dangers of meddling with the universe, but it hadn’t been until he was older, the consequences of his father’s actions crashing around their ears, that he had truly learned his lesson. 

“I promise, I will not use magic for this. Just don’t give up hope - not yet.” 

“Alright,” she said softly. She looked as if she didn’t want to believe him, didn’t want to allow herself to hope, and yet her eyes already shone with it. He reassured himself that he wouldn’t let her down; that this would work. 

It had to. 

  
  
  


They’d had a pre-engagement dinner the night before, just the Emryses and the Pendragons. It was as good as done, Lance said, and this was just a chance for both of them to break it off without stigma. Lance planned to marry Pendragon no matter what, so he procured a promise from Merlin to be polite no matter what was said. Merlin agreed, but would not pretend to be happy about the arrangement. 

Merlin had to admit that Lance’s future husband would at least be handsome. Arthur Pendragon’s deep blue waistcoat brought out the color of his eyes and his blond hair was neatly trimmed and artfully arranged. The patrician line of his nose and strong jaw gave him a stunning profile, and for the first part of the evening, Merlin felt himself nursing a bit of affection for the man. 

It seemed handsomeness ran in the family, as Miss Pendragon was similarly beautiful, albeit in a different way. Her dark hair was pulled up in a modern chignon, perfectly curled ringlets framing her delicate face, and her pale green eyes were rimmed in kohl. Her dress was delicate and of a more modern cut than Lady Emrys’, something Merlin reminded himself would change once Lance married Pendragon. His mother would finally enter society with her head held high, would be able to host elaborate dinner parties with her improved budget and social circle.

“Merlin,” Miss Pendragon began politely, once everyone else had reiterated just how happy they were with the arrangement, “I understand you are fresh from the schoolroom. What are your plans for the future?” 

Merlin opened his mouth, but his mother answered for him. 

“Our Merlin will be enlisting just after the wedding. We’ve had word from the school that he excelled in both offensive and defensive magic. He’ll be a real asset to the Army.”

“If you’ll remember, Mother,” Merlin said through gritted teeth, “I also excelled at healing magic.” The sharpening of both Pendragons’ eyes told him his comment was teetering on the edge of impoliteness, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. For perhaps the rest of his life, he would be known as a soldier, an officer, a _killer_ , and he hated it. If he had the money to buy his way out, he would train to become a physician in a heartbeat. He would even settle for becoming an Army physician, if it came down to it, but his professors' recommendations meant any chance of that was lost. 

“Yes, you’re a very gifted sorcerer, Merlin,” his mother remarked, shooting him a look.

“Perhaps I’ll have to take you hunting sometime then,” Pendragon remarked. 

“Excuse me?” Merlin asked, gripping his utensils tightly to avoid screaming.

"If you're so adept at offensive spells, you're sure to be a better shot than half my friends. I could use someone like you." Pendragon smiled, either unaware or uncaring of Merlin's anger. Even worse, it was a nice smile, as if he were trying to show off the fact that he could look genuinely happy and attractive while secretly plotting Merlin’s demise.

"I am not a hunting dog," Merlin spat out between gritted teeth. "Just because I have a skill does not mean I enjoy using it. I have no wish to kill anything, animal or human."

“Were you conscripted?” Miss Pendragon gasped. 

“No ma’am, but I have no doubt that if I had chosen another profession, I would be. Magic users are in short supply on the front lines and in the officers.” That he was too poor to pay his way out went unsaid.

Miss Pendragon’s expression slid into fear for a moment before her brother spoke up. 

"Thankfully our father left us a substantial fortune, and Morgana will not be used for her magic.” 

The words which so calmed Miss Pendragon rubbed salt in Merlin's wounds. It wasn't as if it was Merlin's fault they were poor! And how dare he insult his father! Yes, he’d made mistakes, but everyone made mistakes. Merlin glared at him. There was no way Lance could marry this horrible man, no matter how profitable the match. 

“No one should be conscripted, magic or no magic,” Miss Pendragon remarked, immediately endearing herself to Merlin even beyond the kinship of magic users. 

“Agreed,” Pendragon said easily. “But the fact remains that we have to be grateful you don’t find yourself in the same situation as Merlin here.”

“And do you or do you not have a seat in Parliament?” Merlin asked cuttingly. “You can profess that your opinion aligns with your sister, but it means nothing unless you use your position to prevent this from happening to anyone else.” 

By the sudden fire in Pendragon’s eyes, he was ready to spew forth a retort about far more important legislature than _saving lives_ , but Merlin’s mother cut in smoothly to compliment Miss Pendragon on the excellent preparation of the fish, and conversation moved on. Merlin contented himself with glaring at Pendragon when no one else was looking; the hypocrite deserved worse but Merlin was constricted by polite society’s standards. 

After dinner, Lady Emrys spoke sweetly as Pendragon led her and Lance to the drawing room, not deigning Merlin with a single glance. He knew she was angry with him for potentially messing this up for the family. Miss Pendragon drew Merlin into conversation about spells and magic, tactfully avoiding mention of any spells that Merlin may have learned for the Army. Merlin became so invested in teaching her simple healing spells that he didn’t realize until they were leaving that her purpose was to allow her brother and his to speak without Merlin’s interference. 

The horses couldn’t pull the carriage home fast enough, and Merlin found himself wishing he’d skipped ahead in his magical artillery text to the bit about magically increasing a horse’s stamina. According to his mother, there was a good possibility Pendragon wouldn’t offer for Lance after all, and when Merlin simply remarked, “Good,” she told him he would be the one responsible if they were sent to debtor’s prison after all. 

  
  
  


So Merlin had come up with a new plan, something to ensure his mother and Lance were safe from prison without Lance giving up everything for it, and found himself back on the Pendragons’ doorstep, his heart beating too fast to be the result of his walk. It would work, he reassured himself. He just needed to be confident and stand his ground. 

The butler showed him in, and announced him at the door of his master’s study. 

“Mr. Emrys to see you, sir.” 

“Send him in, thank you George.” 

Pendragon looked up with a polite smile which faded when he realized it was Merlin and not Lance standing in front of him. He had clearly not been expecting visitors at this moment because his suit jacket was slung over the back of his chair, and his white shirt was unbuttoned at the wrists and rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. God, why did he have to be so handsome? Someone who looked like that would never agree to marry someone who looked like Merlin, even if it were just a matter of convenience. 

“Emrys,” Pendragon said in a clipped tone, rising to shake Merlin’s hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Is everything alright with Lancelot?” He eyed Merlin up and down, perhaps looking for something amiss in his appearance to give an indication as to the unexpected visit. 

Merlin raised a hand self consciously to his cravat, hoping he’d tied it on straight. It certainly felt tight, especially when Pendragon began rolling down his sleeves and fastening the buttons at his wrists one handed. He hastily reminded himself of what the blond had said the previous evening, and, desire checked, let his voice go slightly icy. “To be honest, no, not everything is alright with Lancelot.” 

“What is it? How may I help?” Pendragon asked, now reaching for his jacket. 

“May I sit? I think there is a discussion we should have.” 

Pendragon relaxed slightly, shrugging into his jacket and gesturing for Merlin to sit. “If you’re here to ensure I treat your brother well, I assure you Lady Emrys has already talked to me about it.” 

“Oh,” Merlin said, surprised despite himself. Of course he knew his mother loved them both, but lately he’d felt so constricted by her expectations for both of them that he had forgotten just how loving she could be. “Er, no, that’s not what I wanted to discuss with you.” He swallowed, suddenly nervous. “Lancelot has a sweetheart, and he loves her.” 

“Guinevere, yes, he told me about her. I assured him he could continue seeing her if he wished, but he wished to break things off with her. Is that no longer the case?” 

“N- Well- See-” Merlin sighed and collected himself. “If it’s just a marriage of convenience for you, I would like to...offer myself as a potential husband, instead of Lance.” He took a breath and continued before Pendragon could interject. “You would benefit exactly the same as if you’d married him, perhaps more as I have magic, but you would still be marrying into the Emrys family, and my mother would still receive the, er, stipend…” 

Pendragon’s face remained completely blank. 

“I know I’m not as handsome,” he gestured to his ears, “or-or as nice as Lance, but it would mean a lot if he didn’t have to sacrifice himself for the sake of the family.” 

“Sacrifice himself!” Pendragon cried, his mask dissolved. “Is it such a hardship to be married to me?” 

It was said lightheartedly, but something in Merlin could hear the emotion lurking beneath. “I have no idea, seeing as I’m not married to you yet,” he answered with a teasing grin. “But I know for a fact that he would much rather marry Gwen than you, on account of he loves her.”

Pendragon’s brow furrowed. “If he was unavailable…”

Merlin shook his head. “Mother wouldn’t allow it unless Gwen obtained a Captaincy.” 

“You understand that marrying me doesn’t solve anything for Lancelot. It is very likely your mother will find him another match before the Season is out.” 

Merlin swallowed and avoided Pendragon’s eyes. 

“I see. You were hoping I would purchase a Captaincy for this Guinevere as well?” 

Merlin nodded, sure he was red to the tips of his ears. 

“Does your brother even know you’re doing this?” Pendragon continued, and it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

“Of course not!” Merlin burst out. “If you knew him at all you'd know that he would do anything for our family, no matter what his heart told him! He's too noble to do anything about the situation but I know my brother and he is _miserable!_ "

"And don't you think maybe his own brother going behind his back would make him even more so? Especially because he's doing this for his family, for you to betray his trust like that? Even if I was thinking about your little proposition, it's clear to me that you aren't to be trusted. In addition, there are several benefits to you in this situation, namely that marrying me puts you in a position to refuse the offer of employment from the Army, giving you a life of leisure."

"Oh that's rich, coming from someone whom I've barely met. As if I trust you? You told my brother to sleep with someone else as if she's some sort of- of _harlot_! You've never even met her!"

Pendragon’s eyes burned into him, and his chest was heaving distractingly. How could someone so handsome be _such_ a prat? Dimly, Merlin realized they’d both stood from their chairs during the argument. 

“I would wager you have a ‘mistress’ as well,” he told Pendragon viciously. “Someone you wanted to keep during your marriage. It would work out perfectly for you if Lance had taken you up on your offer; he’d never know what you are. Well I do.” He resolutely ignored the slight shake in his voice. “Here is my offer: I will marry you in Lance’s place. You can do whatever or _who_ ever you wish to in private, and I won’t interfere. Whatever pin money you planned to give to Lance, you can cut in half. You will buy Gwen her Captaincy, and I will pay you back every haypenny when I become a physician in a few years. The only other thing I require is that my mother is taken care of per your previous agreement with Lance. That is all -- good day, sir.”

And with that, Merlin turned and walked from the room. 

It was surreal, walking into his home afterwards. It was quiet and calm inside, in direct contrast to the buzzing under his skin and the racing of his thoughts. Thankfully, Lance was still mourning the loss of his hopes and dreams and his mother was still occupied by her embroidery, and he was left alone to think until the time Pendragon was due to arrive. 

Had he only made things worse in letting his temper get the better of him? What if Pendragon not only refused to marry one of the Emryses, but spread the word about what Merlin had done? Their reputation would be ruined and their chance of debtor’s prison would become a reality. He felt as if he were balanced on a knife’s edge and any wrong move could lead to his family’s downfall. 

A servant fetched him to the morning room, and he walked as if to his doom. His mother and Pendragon were both inside drinking tea, and a questioning glance to his mother was simply returned with raised eyebrows. 

“I believe you have much to discuss with Mr. Pendragon,” she told him, and moved to stand at the window, almost as if she were chaperoning them. 

Mutely, Merlin turned to Pendragon.

“Mr. Emrys,” Pendragon began without delay, “would you do me the honor of becoming my husband? I agree to your previously stated terms and have already begun to write up the settlement to reflect it.” He passed over a sheaf of papers, which Merlin read over. 

“Would it be possible for my mother to read these over first?”

“Of course.” 

Merlin realized if they continued to be distantly polite like this, they would get on quite well together, prattiness or not. 

“Then yes, provided she is happy with the settlement, I will marry you.” 

“Good,” Pendragon nodded. “Then, Merlin, Lady Emrys, I shall bid you good day.” He shook Merlin’s hand and kissed his mother’s before leaving an astonished and happy Emrys family behind. 

Lance took the news more seriously, and refused to share it with Gwen. “It will not matter, Merlin, don’t you see? Mother will find some other rich man or woman for me to marry, and Gwen still doesn’t have her Captaincy. I won’t be able to support her as she deserves, and she won’t be able to support me either with her current salary.” 

“It will all work out,” Merlin assured his brother. 

  
  
  


And it did. Gwen arrived on their doorstep not a week later, demanding to speak with Merlin.

“You used your magic,” she accused him, brandishing the letter detailing her new Captaincy. 

“I did not,” Merlin told her, unable to contain his grin. “I simply found someone to sponsor you, and freed Lance from his situation so that you could be together.”

“But- but how?”

“I am to marry Arthur Pendragon instead of Lance.”

"Oh, Merlin," Gwen cried, and hugged him tightly. It was quite improper, but neither of them cared much at all. They would be family soon enough, and the fact that Lance and Gwen were so happy sustained Merlin throughout his engagement and the early part of his marriage to Arthur. 


	2. In which Arthur courts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One year later

Merlin stared down at the note in his hand, uncomprehending. 

“What does it say?” Morgana asked. Her upbringing forbade her from peeking over his shoulder but apparently not from snatching the note out of his hand. “Merlin,” she read aloud. “Please remember we are expected at the Nemeth’s for supper this evening. I expect you will need some time to prepare and look your best, so please do not stay at the Knight’s as late as you are wont to. Arthur.” 

“It’s not as though I’m likely to forget,” Merlin complained to his sister-in-law. “He talks about her constantly.” He didn’t have to elaborate further. As much as Arthur talked about Mithian, Merlin complained about her to Morgana more often.

“He also says he wants you to look your best,” she commented. “Why is that if he’s only going for her? Which I will remind you again is not the case.”

“He’s probably trying to make her jealous.” He shook his head and plucked the note from her hand, slipping it into his pocket. It was certainly not Arthur’s fault Merlin was the jealous one instead; Merlin had practically agreed to this arrangement when he proposed. After all, he had never thought he’d fall in love with his prat of a husband, so he had never expected to have this particular problem. He pasted on a smile and said, “We have plenty of time for another round, are you ready?”

“Always,” Morgana grinned. 

This particular game had become a staple in their practice sessions of late; one of them would conjure an animal, with the goal to have the creature touch the opponent. The other could likewise win by incapacitating the animal or successfully blocking it, usually with a strong shield. According to Gaius, the physician Merlin was apprenticed to, the exercise taught them to think quickly on their feet and focus on their precision in spell-casting. According to both Merlin and Morgana, it was fun and much better than their usual spellwork practice. It also allowed them to both release their magic regularly, something that Morgana had worried about leading up to her marriage to Leon. 

For a few years prior to Merlin’s marriage to Arthur, Morgana had been struggling to keep her magic under control whenever she had a nightmare, and had set her bed hangings aflame several times. Her magic, like Merlin’s, was tied closely with her emotions, and their sessions had the added effect of calming both of their moods for some time after.

When Morgana indicated she was prepared, Merlin conjured a spaniel, allowing his frustration through in the dog’s barks. He pet it and muttered, “ _Geflieman_.” It sniffed, slowly but surely making its way to Morgana, who had been watching and waiting for the opportune moment. 

“ _Scildan_ .” A shimmering transparent shield formed around the spaniel, but it broke through easily. “ _Gehaeftan_ ,” she tried. Ropes formed around the dog, and Morgana stepped forward until Merlin spelled the ropes to break and the spaniel was free again. 

“Sit,” she said, as if the dog was one of her own and is already trained. When that didn’t work, she used the spell form. “ _Hiersumaþ me. Sittan_.” The spaniel sat. 

“Ha!” Morgana grinned up at Merlin, wordlessly raising shields around the dog. “I w--” 

“ _Awendan,”_ he murmured before she could strengthen her shields, and his dog transformed into a brightly coloured parrot, just like he and Arthur had seen at the aviary last month. Morgana’s grin turned to shock and she unconsciously stepped back from the large bird, dropping the shield completely, just as he’d hoped. “ _Fleoge,_ ” he urged his spell-bird, having a bit of trouble pronouncing his spell through his smile. “Fly. Follow her.” 

“Merlin! That’s not fair!” Morgana yelled, picking up her skirts so she could run, as the parrot squawked and easily followed her across the ballroom. 

“All’s fair in love and war!” he shouted gleefully, laughing as his parrot easily followed the twists and turns Morgana made as she retreated. One of her manservants looked on impassively, something that always impressed Merlin. He was sure he could never control his expression like that.

Morgana sprinted forward, putting a bit more distance between herself and the parrot, then turned and held out a hand to cast. “ _Gehaeftan_ .” As her eyes turned gold, ropes formed from thin air, but Merlin guided his bird deftly between them. “ _Onbregdan þas maegþ,”_ he cast, hoping the spell will work despite the archaic wording.

“I am no maiden,” Morgana laughed, but the spell-bird dove towards her and Merlin threw his hands up in success. But- no, Morgana had cast a shield around herself and although it was too weak to hold back his spaniel, it was strong enough to block the parrot. 

“No!” 

“Yes!” Morgana twirled around in victory, the silver thread on her dress catching in the light and lighting her up. “That’s two wins for me, and only one for you, I’m afraid.” She aimed an exaggerated frown at him. 

“We’ll just have to play again,” he insisted. “Give me a chance to tie the score.” 

“Mr. Pendragon, sir,” the servant piped up before Morgana could respond. “I have another message for you, from your husband.” 

Against his wishes Merlin’s heart sped up at the thought of another note from Arthur. Every time he received one he began to hope and inevitably every time he opened one the hope died; each was proper and courteous and utterly banal. Nonetheless he treasured each one. 

“Two or three messages sent in a day,” Morgana murmured from behind him, and for a moment he wondered what she was referencing, but then the servant turned to retrieve not only the small square of paper Merlin expected but a thick rectangular package. Incredulous, he turned it over in his hands, trying to guess not the contents, but the intention behind the gift. 

“Merlin? Would you rather sit down to open it?”

Merlin nodded gratefully at Morgana and allowed himself to be led to her favorite drawing room, where she called for tea. 

“I’m sure it won’t bite,” she told him gently when he made no move to open the gift. He knew he was being a horrible guest, but for all that Arthur was only his husband in name, Morgana had truly become his sister.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” he told her. “I just don’t understand why…”

“Well, might the note and contents not give you some insight?”

He tilted his head in acknowledgement and opened the note tucked under the twine of the wrapping. 

_For your studies - A_

Even more intrigued, Merlin carefully opened his gift, unable to contain his gasp when the book’s title was revealed. _The Physician’s Guide to Healing Spells_ had a special place on Gaius’ shelf, and Merlin had been setting aside some of his pin money for months to be able to purchase a copy of his own. 

“Good then?” Morgana raised an eyebrow at the reverent way Merlin’s fingers traced the gilded title. 

“Yes. It’s the next book I need to study for my apprenticeship, the one I’ve been looking forward to. I’ve never mentioned it to him though. I was telling Gwaine at the ball last week but he- wait. This isn’t from you is it?” 

“Of course not,” she answered primly. “I’ve been dreading the time you decided you knew enough about medicine to practice your spells on me.” 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it; Leon would kill me if I accidentally hurt you. But...has he been acting odd with you lately? Arthur, I mean.” 

“No, not particularly. Why?” 

“Hm. I thought it might have been because of your marriage. He hardly sees you now.” 

“He knows he can see me whenever he needs to. Both of you can,” she added. “In what way is he acting odd?”

“Well these notes for one,” he started. “And this book! We rarely talk beyond telling each other what our social engagements are for the week, and now this? He buys me the book I’ve wanted since forever? And sweetmeats, he keeps giving me sweetmeats.” 

Morgana shook her head fondly. “You have been talking about that book for as long as I’ve known you, and you love sweetmeats. If you and I had married, I’d ply you with sweetmeats too, if it kept you happy.”

“But- It’s--” Merlin thought about his interactions with Arthur in the past month or two, trying to find something to prove his point. “He insisted we have coordinating costumes made for the masquerade ball at the Gawant’s this Saturday. And!” he added when Morgana opened her mouth to reply, “Last week he swore, out of the blue, that I was an infuriating man to live with but that he was glad he married me! Utterly unprompted! What am I supposed to do with that?” 

What he had done with that was excuse himself to his room and attempt to talk himself out of hoping that Arthur returned his feelings, but Morgana didn’t need to know _that._ “I just don’t understand why he’s suddenly being overly polite to me, even in the privacy of our home. You more than anyone know what our relationship is truly like.” 

On more than one occasion Morgana had threatened to elope with the nearest servant if Merlin and Arthur didn’t stop bickering over the last piece of toast and whether or not Arthur was getting fat. 

“You’d never,” Arthur had always insisted. “You’re too much of a romantic to do that. And besides, think of what poor Mr. Knight would say when I told him you’d gone off to Gretna Green without him!” 

Shortly after Morgana had married, however, Arthur had become unfailingly polite and distant, leaving the last piece of toast for Merlin every morning without so much as an eyebrow raise or smirk, let alone an argument. 

“Merlin,” Morgana said gently, bringing Merlin back to the present. “I think you’re forgetting how much you’ve helped my brother grow in the past year. He’s actually begun to communicate with his friends and complete strangers without insulting them.” She took a sip of tea, eyeing him thoughtfully over the rim of her cup. “Unless you _want_ him to insult you?” 

“O-of course not!” Merlin spluttered, inwardly cursing his pale skin for revealing every hint of a blush. It wasn’t his fault that hearing Arthur be polite to him felt unnatural and wrong, their relationship was built on creatively insulting each other and Merlin knew that Arthur’s stilted politeness meant something was wrong, whatever Morgana said. 

Miraculously, Morgana let the comment go for the present. “There is a simple solution to all of this, you know. Talk to him. It sounds as if he’s attempting to communicate something to you, and it’s high time you cleared it all up. Why don’t you ask him right now, before you attend the Nemeth’s?” And with that, she stood gracefully and guided him to the door. 

  
  
  
  


When Merlin arrived home, he found his clothes already laid out and his bath prepared with lavender and sage, the water still hot in a way that could only be the result of a spell. He made a note to thank both his valet Daegal and the cook, Gilli; Gilli had a small amount of magic and performing it tired him much faster than Merlin or Morgana, so Merlin usually heated his own bath. Today, after his sparring with Morgana and the confusion caused by Arthur’s notes and gift and the upcoming dinner with the Nemeths, Merlin was glad to sink into his bath without taxing himself further. 

As he closed his eyes and breathed in the fragrant steam, he thought about his situation. How had it come to this, that a routine intimate dinner party between two friendly families could make Merlin so unsettled and jealous? His opinion of Arthur had changed so dramatically since their marriage, but it was difficult to pinpoint exactly when he had fallen for his husband. Perhaps it had been when he realized how much Arthur stood up for his sister; how when she wanted to turn down an offer of marriage and wait until she was in love, he made sure she was able to do so. Perhaps it was when he overheard another member of Parliament complaining about “Pendragon and his damned magic bill.” Or when he researched the bill and found a document about ending the conscription of magic users which had been written well before Arthur had met Merlin. Or perhaps when he had seen the care Arthur took with his servants and even dock workers he came into contact with. Sure, he had been speaking to them condescendingly, but when Merlin had confronted him about it, it had been a case of poor communication and not ill will. With those insights and Arthur’s stunning looks, what else could Merlin do but love him? 

Merlin smiled as he thought about his project to help Arthur feel at ease with people of any class. Arthur had been following the social mores his father had taught him, which were antiquated and did not align well with Arthur’s own feelings on class and worth. But Arthur’s social circle had expanded with their marriage, and Merlin painstakingly instructed him on how to relate to other experiences and find common ground between himself and another person. Slowly but surely, Arthur began to feel more comfortable in situations outside of Parliament, and although he would never be in high demand for his conversation, he was able to converse without insulting everyone. Merlin enjoyed watching his husband from a distance as he deftly carried conversations with anyone from a Duke to a servant, looking just as at ease with both. He had taught him well.

But sometimes Merlin fantasized about keeping Arthur all to himself, about pressing him against the front door and claiming those enticing lips with his own. Arthur would be pleasantly distracted from whatever social engagement they were promised to, and Merlin could drag him back to one of their bedrooms for the rest of the evening. The cravat would be first to go, and Merlin would suck bruises along Arthur’s jaw and throat as he pushed off the dark blue coat and unbuttoned the matching waistcoat. Next would be the crisp white shirt Arthur always wore. Slowly, still caressing Arthur’s golden skin with his lips, he would push the shirt off of his shoulders, revealing those muscular forearms and a chest Merlin could only imagine. Sturdier than himself or Lance, covered in fine golden hairs like his forearms, the possibilities made Merlin shiver. Or perhaps it was the bathwater cooling at last. Gilli’s spells never lasted as long as Merlin’s, but were much better than buckets of hot water being poured into the tub during his bath. He finished quickly, thankful for the release of tension his bath had afforded him. 

Daegal helped him dress, tying an elaborate knot in his favorite red cravat that would show Arthur his message had been received. Once he had finished, Daegal handed him an unaddressed letter which he explained had been lying next to his clothes. Curious, Merlin dismissed him and opened the letter to read:

_M,_

_I must confess I do not know how to begin. How does one write a love letter? I could list the reasons I love you, or I could entreat you to try to love me in return. I could copy Shakespeare or Byron, for they have a way with words that I lack._

_Or I could simply say: I love you. I have felt it ever stronger as the weeks go by, and sometimes I feel as though my heart will burst with it. I know that our relationship is unconventional, and I do not expect you to reciprocate my feelings right now. I can only hope that I am able to successfully court you now in the way I failed to before._

_Love,_ _  
__A_

_Love_ , Merlin thought, caressing the word and signature with his thumb. Arthur was courting someone whom he loved. And who he loved was Mithian. What else could the M stand for? All the clues were there, from their weekly meetings to the unconventional relationship he was sure to see in action again that night. All of the tension he had released during his bath was back now in full force. 

But how had the note ended up in his rooms? If he had written such a letter--and would that he’d thought of that before--he would never let it out of his sight until the intended recipient held it safely between their fingers. Perhaps one of their servants had assumed he was M and delivered it to him as discreetly as possible. It hadn’t been sealed, after all. 

Merlin shook his head, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He would be a supportive, _very_ _platonic_ , husband, he told himself sternly, and would pass the letter along to the intended recipient at supper. God knew how they communicated usually, as they were the picture of propriety whenever the Nemeths invited he and Arthur over. 

Merlin descended the stairs quickly, summoning his overcoat and tophat before one of the servants could hand them down to him. He didn’t think he could bear to be touched by anyone without breaking down. He spared a glance at Arthur, then a second, because his husband’s face was awash with emotions; nervousness warred with hope and love, and a flicker of worry expressed itself in the furrow between his eyebrows. On a normal day, Merlin might stop to ask what was wrong, tease Arthur into talking about his feelings, but he was already worn from the emotional turbulence of the past few hours. 

“Are you ready then?” Merlin asked, his expression too bright. 

“Merlin…” Arthur’s hand rose as if to touch Merlin, but Merlin stepped back to avoid it. Arthur turned away, his magnificent shoulders slumped. Merlin would never be able to soothe the aches in those shoulders. “I suppose so.” 

The carriage ride to the Nemeth’s was silent and tense. Merlin realized that this would be an optimal time to ask Arthur what he meant by his recent behavior, but then again, he’d already received the answer, hadn’t he? Arthur was simultaneously distancing himself from and flattering Merlin in order to more seriously pursue Mithian. With that in mind, he thanked Arthur as warmly as he could for his gift. Even though there was no sentiment behind it, he appreciated the book nonetheless.

Arthur brightened slightly, and turned towards him. “And the letter?”

Merlin stared at him for a moment. Did he mean the messages he’d sent when Merlin was at the Knight’s? Or was he asking about the letter Arthur had written to Mithian? Was he meant to _thank_ Arthur for them? “Er, yes I received it,” he said, watching Arthur carefully. Arthur’s face shuttered and he nodded stiffly. Neither of them spoke again until the Nemeth’s servants relieved them of their outerwear. 

Supper was a somewhat quiet affair, as neither Merlin nor Arthur were up to talking much. Rodor genially carried the conversation, telling stories of the gentlemen in his club and of the late Mrs. Nemeth, and Mithian chimed in, even though she must have heard the same stories many times before. Merlin thought he must have made some small comments, for no comment was made about his uncharacteristic quietude or whether he was feeling unwell. Then again, the Nemeths were too kind and genial to comment on such a thing in company.

Rodor took the initiative of engaging Arthur in conversation as they made their way to the drawing room afterwards, leaving Merlin to escort Mithian. He was walking as if in a trance, and only came back to himself when Mithian squeezed his arm gently. He had been staring at Arthur's ass. 

“Are you alright, Merlin?” Mithian asked kindly. 

Merlin could feel his blush rising to his ears. How could he ever compete against her for Arthur’s love? Not only was she beautiful and delicate-looking, she was kind even in the face of Merlin’s impolitic ogling of her lover. He tried to smile at her as he removed the letter from his breast pocket with his free hand and silently handed it to Mithian. He was sure the action was much more obvious than it was supposed to be. After all, he had never seen Arthur exchange notes with Mithian, and their affair had started several months ago at least.

Mithian took the paper carefully and looked questioningly at him, and when he mouthed, "From Arthur," her confusion only intensified. It must have been that Merlin was handing it to her instead of Arthur, or the fact that Merlin knew something was going on between them and was alright with it. Not that he was, but he loved Arthur and he wouldn't stand in the way of Arthur's happiness, even if it meant facilitating his relationship with Mithian.

That night as he lay in bed attempting to sleep, Merlin would not be able to say what they had discussed after dinner, or what songs Mithian sang and played, but he could recount perfectly the number of times Arthur looked at Mithian (thirteen), the number of times she smiled at him (twenty), and the number of times her hand slipped into her dress pocket to touch the illicit letter (five).

  
  
  
  


At work the next day he was restless and unproductive.

"Go home, Merlin,” Gaius told him after tea time. “Rest up so that you'll be more useful when you come back tomorrow." 

Merlin glanced up from his anatomy text. "But it's not my usual time yet," he protested. 

"I think you'll find that it is," Gaius said gently, nodding at the clock. "I'll need you to be more alert tomorrow, you'll be accompanying me on my rounds and putting your knowledge of anatomy and herbs to the test. And Merlin," he added while Merlin packed up his books and uneaten dinner, "if you need to talk about something, I am here for you. I would much prefer to hear your problems and help solve them than watch you brood all day."

"Thanks, Gaius. I don't think anyone can help solve my problems, but thank you for offering."

"You always have more pathways open to you than you think," Gaius said kindly. "Sleep on it, many answers come to us in dreams."

"I won’t be sleeping much, the Carleon's ball is tonight," Merlin told him. "I will think on it though. See you tomorrow!"

He did think about his predicament as he walked, distractedly tipping his hat to various acquaintances as he walked. In spite of his distraction he remembered to give his uneaten dinner to a group of street urchins, not only to be kind but also to escape Gilli's wrath at the sight of an uneaten meal. He continued on his way, trying to think of a way around the heartbreak of Arthur leaving him for Mithian or continuing to pretend to be with Merlin when everyone knew he had his real love Mithian on the side. Someone tipped their hat at him and he absentmindedly tipped it back, still intently thinking, when a familiar voice cut through his thoughts. 

"Oi! Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

His mood already brightened, Merlin turned to face Gwaine. "You're hardly an old friend, old friend."

Gwaine waved that away, putting an arm around Merlin's shoulders in comradery. "You're a better friend than most of my actual old friends, Merlin. Say, do you want to join me at my club for supper tonight? You can tell me why you look so blue, and we can drink our problems away."

"I can't, I have the Carleon ball tonight."

"Well that's sure to be a bore, Lady Annis never lets anyone fun attend."

"It's true, it has been much more...stately since they stopped inviting you," laughed Merlin, thinking about the antics Gwaine used to get up to in the early days of their friendship. "Remember that time you drank a cup of wine every time one of the old ladies tried to introduce their children to Percival as a potential spouse?"

"At least I still have the memories," Gwaine said wistfully. "Walk you home?"

Merlin nodded. It had been too long since he’d really seen Gwaine, and although he knew he would see him again in a few days at the Godwin’s masquerade ball, Gwaine was sure to be too busy dancing and flirting to really talk.

“So what’s happening in the great life of Merlin Pendragon? How’s the Princess?” 

“He still hates it when you call him that, but I think you’ll be very pleased to see his costume Saturday.” Merlin was still surprised he had convinced Arthur to wear the costume Merlin designed for him, and he was very excited to see it on his husband. 

“Oh? How intriguing. I will be offering no such hints regarding my costume, you’ll just have to search me out when you arrive.”

“Of course, I would expect nothing less.” 

Gwaine continued to distract him from his troubles with ridiculous events that had happened since they’d last talked, and before Merlin knew it, they had arrived at the Pendragon townhouse. 

“Give them a taste of what they’re missing tonight, eh?” Gwaine asked, gesturing at himself.

Merlin gave him a mock salute and a grin, already planning his course of action. “Of course.” 

It had been an odd experience at first, attending balls with Arthur. There was no expectation of remaining by each other’s sides or even within each other’s sights, something Merlin had never experienced before. Of course, he’d rarely been out in proper society before, and when he had, his mother had made sure he stayed close to her. At the first ball after their marriage, Arthur had stayed by his side and introduced Merlin to several men and women he knew from Parliament, but after a quarter of an hour he disappeared to get some punch and never returned. 

Merlin had tentatively gone off on his own, and with some help from his naturally social disposition and a fortunate introduction to Gwaine, he had blossomed in the expanded social scene he had found himself in. He had been as aware of his new acquaintance’s families as they had his, but a certain amount of money was required to properly move in society, and prior to his marriage he hadn’t had access to that kind of money. Trips to the theatre, expansive dinner parties and balls filled his and Arthur’s social calendar, and it wasn’t long before Merlin was introducing people to Arthur rather than the other way around. 

Balls at the Carleon’s always reminded Merlin of the balls his mother and father hosted when he was a small child. Everyone was exceedingly proper and impeccably dressed, and nothing out of the ordinary ever seemed to happen. That was the great thing about Gwaine; he never failed to liven up even the most boring of parties. 

Not that this ball was the most boring he’d ever attended, but that was only because many of his friends were also in attendance. He and Arthur made their standard trip around the ballroom, greeting their mutual friends and making small talk for a quarter of an hour until Arthur excused himself to bring Merlin some punch. Merlin no longer expected Arthur to return with the punch, as it was simply Arthur’s excuse to get away from the crowd for a while. He smiled and thanked his husband, and then turned back to continue his discussion with Mr. Iseldir, a relative of Merlin’s classmate Mordred, who had graduated this year, and was planning on enlisting in the Army. 

Only a few minutes into Mr. Iseldir’s monologue about Mordred’s vast talents and accomplishments, to which Merlin listened politely and made the correct appreciative noises, Arthur returned. Merlin was so shocked at his reappearance that he failed to notice the two cups of punch Arthur held, and it wasn’t until Arthur nudged him with a concerned look on his face that he raised his hand to hold the cup. 

“I apologize, Mr. Iseldir,” Arthur said politely while Merlin silently recovered his faculties. “I’m afraid I need to steal my husband away to greet Lady Emrys. I’m sure Merlin will be delighted to see more of Mordred in the future, provided he is stationed near Town.” 

“Indeed,” Merlin added. “I am glad to hear Mordred and all of your family are doing so well. If you’ll excuse us.” He and Arthur bowed and made their exit across the ballroom. Merlin’s mind was still spinning. What did Arthur mean by changing his routine like this? Had something happened? “My mother?” he asked, forcing out the words. Arthur’s hand was on the small of his back and it was all Merlin could concentrate on. Arthur had been so stiff earlier that day, in fact ever since the letter he’d written to Mithian had made its way to Merlin instead, but now he was being almost _too_ accommodating.

“Your mother is fine,” Arthur responded. “It looked like you needed saving from an extremely tedious conversation.” 

“Yes, but--” Merlin glanced at Arthur, who was staring straight ahead. He knew he would not receive an answer from Arthur as to why he had chosen that time to actually return with punch when he had never done so before. “Thank you.” 

“Merlin, Arthur! How lovely to see you!” Merlin’s mother gave them both a kiss on the cheek and brought them into the conversation she was having with some of the matrons. 

“And how is your older son doing?” Mrs. Collins asked. “I did not see them tonight.”

"Oh, Lord and Captain Emrys are doing wonderfully,” she said, shamelessly showing off their titles instead of referring to them as Lancelot and Guinevere as she normally did in company. “Unfortunately they had a prior engagement tonight, but they will be attending the masquerade, of course.” 

“Of course,” Mrs. Collins said faintly. Merlin guessed that she had not been invited to the masquerade, but had thought to point out Lance and Gwen’s obvious absence at the Carleon’s in an attempt to feel better herself. 

After a few minutes Merlin and Arthur excused themselves from the conversation to make a few more rounds of the ballroom. 

“How long do you think we’ll need to stay?” Arthur asked Merlin quietly as they wandered between groups. 

Merlin turned and whispered in Arthur’s ear so that he wouldn’t be overheard. “I promised Gwaine to remind them what they’re missing, but afterwards I expect we will be able to leave rather quickly.” 

Arthur swallowed and tightened his hold on Merlin. “Of course. I look forward to it. Should I leave you alone to concoct your plans?”

“Yes, go do whatever you normally do during balls,” he told him, smiling. 

Merlin took advantage of Arthur’s absence to speak to the Knights about Arthur’s behavior. Leon and Morgana both agreed that something was going on with Arthur, but were no help at all in determining what it was. 

“You haven’t talked to him yet, have you?” was all Morgana had to say on the subject.

Leon wasn’t much help either: “Relationships are all about communication.” 

Merlin gave him a look at that. 

“What you and Arthur have _is_ a relationship, no matter that it’s not like mine and Morgana’s. And relationships take work. If you want Arthur to change something in his behavior, you need to tell him. Would you tell your valet if he was shaving you in a way you did not like? The same concept applies with Arthur.” 

Merlin thanked them for their help, but knew he would not be confronting Arthur on his behavior yet. After all, it wasn’t Arthur’s fault Merlin had gone and fallen in love with him, was it? Well, perhaps it was, but it wasn’t Arthur’s fault Merlin was jealous of Mithian and wished his husband was in love with him instead.

He needed a distraction from his own troubles once more, and determined that now was as good a time as any to enact his Gwaine-inspired plan. Merlin slowly made his way through the crush of people, searching for a good target. And, there! The slimy Lord Agravaine was retrieving punch for Miss Freya Lake, a quiet girl in Merlin’s group of friends. Lady Annis was nearby, although she was unable to see Merlin from her current perspective, which was exactly what he wanted. 

Merlin let out a tendril of magic and at the same time tripped into someone, apologizing profusely for his clumsiness. His apology was quickly swallowed up by the outcry of rage from Agravaine, and the stranger quickly turned to watch the growing spectacle behind Merlin. 

Agravaine’s suit was dripping with orange punch, but he refused help from any of the Carleon’s servants, content instead to scream at anyone and everyone about the situation instead. 

“Here, my lord.” A servant girl offered up a wet cloth but Agravaine swatted it away. 

“You imbecile! Someone pushed me!” He spun and almost slipped on the spilled punch at his feet, accusing everyone around him with a glance. 

Fortunately for everyone else, Lady Annis was part of this circle, and stepped forward regally. “I am certain this was an accident, Lord Agravaine. Please, allow my servants to help you. Joseph,” she beckoned a servant forward and turned towards her guests, her smile icy. “Now, as to Lord Agravaine’s accusations, I do not tolerate tomfoolery of any sort at my events. Lord Carleon is a magistrate, as you all know, and we _will_ determine who attacked Lord Agravaine.”

Merlin looked around the room. Most were confused and upset, but some just nodded resignedly. This had happened before, after all, particularly at the Carleon's. Arthur was standing against the wall, smirking at him. When their eyes met, Arthur raised his eyebrows, then moved swiftly forward to offer his services to Lady Annis, his face a mask of mild horror at what had happened. 

It was early morning before they called for their carriage, caught up in helping contain the damage and catch the culprit without giving Merlin away. 

Their straight faces lasted just long enough for the footman to close the carriage door on them. Merlin’s slightly manic grin turned into equally manic giggles at having escaped without being caught. A glance at Arthur also laughing set him off even more, until he could swear that the carriage was shaking not because of bumps in the road but due to their laughter. 

“H-his face,” Arthur said, trying to contain his laughter.

“Someone pushed me!” Merlin said in a deep voice, imitating Lord Agravaine. That set Arthur off again, which set Merlin off too. Arthur’s shoulder bumped into Merlin's companionably, and Merlin leaned into it, determined to take whatever contact he could get. Eventually their laughter faded into comfortable silence, and when their driver opened the door for them, the butler having retired early for the night, Merlin used a touch of magic to remove his and Arthur's coats, shoes, and hats. Arthur shivered and Merlin hoped it was from the cold and not the touch of his magic. 

“You seemed to really have fun tonight,” Arthur said quietly. He looked beautiful in the low light of the entranceway, his hair and expression seemed softer than usual, and a bit of golden stubble lined his jaw. Merlin wanted to kiss it; wanted to feel that stubble under his fingers, his lips, feel it brush against his throat, and lower. Merlin bit his lip. He would contain his lust. He would.

Arthur’s eyes seemed to drop to his mouth, but the light was too low to tell for sure, and Arthur wasn’t interested in him that way.

“So did you,” he responded, and it too came out quietly. “Of course,” he grinned, “I think the only ones who didn’t were Lord Agravaine and Lord and Lady Carleon.” 

Even Arthur’s smile was soft. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. You deserve it.” 

Merlin didn’t think he could stand there much longer without doing something he would regret, especially not when Arthur was acting like he cared about Merlin the way Merlin wanted him to. “So do you,” he murmured. “Good night, Arthur.” 

“Good night, Merlin. Sleep well.”

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief when he awoke on Saturday. Gaius had kept Merlin particularly busy for the past few days, supposedly as punishment for how little Merlin had done the day of the Carleon ball. Merlin knew it was also because of the upcoming masquerade. A certain subset of magic user made their living creating objects and weaving spells into clothing to create elaborate costumes for the upper class to wear for masquerades, and Gaius was of the opinion that “magic should be used for a higher purpose than such frivolity.” 

Merlin respected his mentor’s opinions, but he enjoyed having fun with his magic, and had been working on his family’s costumes for the past month or so. Mentioning it to Gaius had clearly been a mistake, but he had been so proud of his success and had wanted to share it with someone who understood the power and delicacy of the magic required. 

Beyond business hours he had been busy as well, between finishing up his, Arthur, Lance and Gwen's costumes and attending the theatre with Arthur two nights before the masquerade. 

Merlin had enjoyed the theatre, as usual, but several times when he turned to share his merriment with Arthur, his husband had been staring stiffly ahead, or even glaring across at some of the other boxes. Merlin still couldn’t determine what had gone wrong, or why Arthur was acting that way, but it had slightly ruined the good mood Merlin had been in since seeing Elyan for the first time in years. He knew Gwen worried constantly about her brother, and he had spent most of intermission with the Emryses and the Smiths, listening to Elyan’s stories of his time on the Continent. 

“You were acting like a real prat tonight,” he had told Arthur on the ride home. “You could have at least pretended to be pleased at meeting Gwen’s brother, and what was even wrong? Was it the play?” 

“The play was fine,” Arthur had replied. “ _You_ certainly seemed to enjoy it well enough.” 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Merlin demanded. 

“Nothing. Obviously.” 

They hadn’t spoken for the rest of the night, but the next morning Arthur politely ceded the last piece of toast to Merlin without issue. Merlin found he still preferred an angry Arthur over a distantly polite one and vowed to keep a closer eye on his husband’s behavior. By Saturday afternoon he had come no closer to an explanation for Arthur’s mood swings, and it was time to dress for the masquerade.

"Are you sure it looks alright?" Arthur twisted left and right in front of the mirror. His skirts twirled beautifully around his ankles. The dress was a beautiful deep red with gold embroidery, and a corset gave the illusion of breasts. The hair though, that was his piece de resistance. Ringlets of soft golden hair framed Arthur's face, and the rest was pulled back in the latest style, mimicking Morgana's. A golden circlet sat upon his brow, providing the hair-lengthening charm, and a delicate gilded lace mask surrounding his eyes finished the costume.

"You agreed to be a princess, this is what princesses wear, and I've even given you an outfit so that we coordinate, like you wanted."

"Ah yes," Arthur grinned and flexed his right hand, which was covered in a long leather glove. “Do you think I should have a few of your feathers to coordinate more?” 

“What, are you afraid there will be another falconer who might try to claim me?” 

“Of course not,” Arthur blustered. “But people might think I’m just a regular princess and not a falconer.” 

"They'll think you're a royal prat, which is what you are." 

Arthur reached out to slap Merlin playfully, but Merlin danced out of the way. 

"Hey, watch the feathers! It took ages to put this together!"

Merlin was dressed as his namesake, a costume consisting of a feathered tailcoat and trousers with a feathered mask with a falcon’s beak over his nose, charmed to turn his hair into feathers to create a more bird-like appearance while he wore it. Unfortunately the spell referred to all of his hair instead of that on his head, which was quite strange, but seeing as no one would see it, he hadn't bothered to fix it. He was just glad Arthur's hair lengthening charm had only worked on the appropriate hair- that would have been difficult to explain to his husband.

The masquerade was sure to be the event of the season, Merlin thought as they descended from their carriage and joined the line stretching up the stairs. There were several other birds in attendance, as the bird masks were quite popular and could be customized by feather type, and many more were monks or nuns. Merlin caught sight of Lance and Gwen ahead of them, with Lance’s distinct costume. Lance was dressed as a lance, with colorful ribbons adorning the pole emanating from his hat, and Gwen was a knight with matching colors. 

Mr. and Miss Godwin received them graciously, dressed as a king and a blue fairy respectively, and then Merlin and Arthur were inside. Miss Godwin could definitely organize an exciting ball, which was a point in her favor in Merlin’s opinion. Gwaine certainly seemed to be enjoying himself, when they saw him, and he enjoyed the fact that Arthur’s costume was based upon Gwaine’s nickname for him. 

“We’re Merlin’s favorite women, aren’t we Princess?” he teased, embracing Arthur. 

“Merlin’s favorite woman is his mother,” Arthur protested, extracting himself from Gwaine’s grasp. 

“Save me a set, will you, Merlin?” Gwaine asked.

“Of course, Sister Greene.” Merlin winked at his friend, grinning.

Arthur remained by Merlin’s side for longer than his customary quarter of an hour again, and even returned promptly when Merlin asked him to obtain him a cup of punch as a sort of reminder. 

Arthur did dance with his sister (the pope) and Mithian (a songbird) while Merlin danced with Leon (a monk) and Gwen, and then Arthur was before him again, holding his hand out. 

“Merlin?” 

“I do not recall accepting a dance with you this evening, sir,” he teased. 

“ _ Mer _ lin.” 

“Oh fine,” Merlin said with a smile, taking his husband’s arm and following him back out to the dance floor. 

“Your costume seems to be holding up nicely,” Arthur commented. “As is mine. Thank you for making it.” 

“You’re welcome. Anything for my princess.” 

Arthur stepped on his foot in retaliation as they traded partners with the couple beside them. 

Of course Merlin’s new partner was Mordred, dressed as a tree. “Mordred,” he greeted, bowing as the dance required. 

“Merlin.” They had very little to discuss, particularly in the time the dance allowed them. Curious about Mordred’s partner, Merlin looked over to find someone dressed as a crow angering Arthur. 

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your partner before,” Merlin said. 

“Ah, yes, Mr. Sigan is visiting from out of town,” was Mordred’s only response. Both men were anxious to be reunited with their partners. 

Arthur was pale and stiff with anger when he returned to Merlin. 

“I hope I’m a nicer partner than your last one,” he teased as they bowed to each other. 

“Yes.” 

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “So? What did you talk about? I hope you defended my bird costume against his.” 

Arthur did not have time to answer before the dance necessitated they switch partners again. This time Merlin was partnered with Sigan the crow. 

“Your costume is very well-made,” Merlin complimented politely. It was clear Arthur did not wish to discuss what Sigan had said, at least not in public, but that didn’t mean Merlin couldn’t lead Sigan into bragging about it.

“Thank you; the feathers are handpicked from my best ravens.” 

Well, there was nothing to say to that. They switched partners and Arthur was back. 

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked anxiously.

“Yes.” Merlin squeezed Arthur’s hand to reassure him. “He didn’t say anything to me.” 

In Merlin’s opinion, Arthur looked far too relieved at the fact that Sigan hadn't said anything to Merlin, but he was sure he'd get Arthur to tell him on the way home. 

They spent the rest of the dance while partnered with each other commenting on the outrageous costumes people had chosen to wear and how they could possibly move, let alone dance, in them. Lord Bayard, dressed as a pineapple, was dancing with Mrs. Collins, dressed as a candelabra, and between his wide costume and the candles she attached to her hands, they were quite comical to watch. Arthur's mood had much improved, and Merlin was proud to have such an effect on his husband's mood. He thought perhaps he would be bold enough to ask for a second dance at the end of the night. 

It was too good to last, however. The end of the dance brought Mordred and Sigan back to Arthur's side again, and Arthur was stiff and unresponsive again. 

Unfortunately he had already promised to dance the next with Lady Vivian, and he didn’t have enough time to tease Arthur back out of this mood. As it was, he was distracted during their dance, and he almost stepped on her feet.

After he’d deposited her safely back with her overprotective father, Merlin searched the corners of the ballroom for Arthur, sure he would have retreated to the shadows while he dealt with his emotions. But he wasn’t there. 

Feeling slightly panicked, Merlin asked several of their acquaintances if they had seen him, but it seemed that he had disappeared after his dance with Merlin. Lance and Leon were dancing, and Morgana and his mother just shook their heads at his query. 

Suddenly Gwen was in front of him, pulling him out of the ballroom and down a long hallway. “Merlin, come quick!” 

“Arthur?” was all Merlin managed to say. If Gwen hadn’t been pulling him along he was sure he would have fainted like women in the stories always seemed to. 

“Fighting, and losing. He needs you.”

They entered onto a terrace, solely illuminated by the full moon, and Merlin saw them: Arthur, hindered by his costume, trying to keep the crow-man, Sigan, away. Sigan darted in to peck Arthur with his fake beak, and must have tripped him as well, because no sooner had Merlin arrived on the scene than Arthur tumbled backwards. 

It felt like time slowed down as Arthur flew through the air. Perhaps it did. Nevertheless, with a crack, Arthur’s head hit the tile, and time sped back up. 

_ “Gehaeftan, _ ” Merlin shouted, conjuring ropes around Sigan as he rushed to Arthur’s side. 

Arthur’s eyes were closed, but he moaned when Merlin pressed gently against his ribs. Merlin loosened the corset slightly with his magic, but determined that it would have to be removed gently and after they were home. 

Gwen was at his side in a moment with a cloth and warm water, as well as some smelling salts. Two of her soldiers were escorting Sigan away at her harsh command, but her touch was soft and comforting on Merlin’s shoulder. 

Merlin smiled gratefully at her, and looked up further to see Morgana pacing the balcony behind Gwen. 

“Will he be alright?” she demanded when Merlin met her anxious gaze. 

“I need to get him home,” he told her. “Can you call for our carriage, and gather our possessions? I will need Leon to help me lift him.” 

“Of course.” She looked grateful for a task, and immediately hurried away, calling out orders for her brother’s carriage to be brought around. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spells are from the Merlin Wiki or old english translations


	3. In which they finally confess their love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a near-death experience to make some long-due confessions

Leon helped Merlin carry Arthur outside, and they set him on the seat, with Arthur’s head on Merlin’s thighs. Arthur stirred slightly, until Merlin put a hand around him to keep him still.

“Thank you, Leon,” Merlin told his brother-in-law. 

“I’m sure we’ll be over to yours soon,” Leon said. “If that’s alright with you.” 

“Of course,” Merlin said, looking down at Arthur. He was so still, Merlin had to lay a hand on his chest to reassure himself. “I’m sure he would like his family around him when...” He couldn't finish the sentence. 

“He will be alright, Merlin,” Leon said kindly, closing the door and signalling to the driver to leave. 

Merlin spent most of the drive clutching Arthur and staring out the window at the dark sky as he tried not to cry. Birds did not cry, and they definitely didn’t ruin their cheek feathers with tears. He would not be able to wear this mask again, although he didn’t think he could stomach it again regardless, given all that had happened at the masquerade.

Arthur groaned and stirred as the carriage hit a stone in the road and jolted his head. 

With a quick spell Merlin steadied the two of them to minimize the movement of Arthur’s body as they traveled. He lowered his hand to cradle Arthur’s head against him again, but Arthur caught his hand weakly and held it. 

“I need to tell you something… I haven’t before. I... love you.” His voice was weak, but his words were clear, as if he needed to be understood.

Merlin looked down at his husband’s unfocused eyes and felt his chest constrict painfully. “Arthur....” He gently untangled his hand and pulled off his mask, revealing his face. “I understand that things may be confusing right now. It’s Merlin, your husband?” 

Arthur’s eyes closed with a sigh, his mouth turned down. Merlin’s tears dripped off his chin onto Arthur’s cheek, making it seem, in the darkness, as if Arthur were crying as well. 

“You will not die,” Merlin told him forcefully. “I will not let you die, and i-if you want to leave…after...” 

“Merlin…” 

“I’m here, c-clotpole.” 

Arthur’s smile looked more like a grimace. “Don’t go...need…” 

“Shh.” Merlin smoothed back Arthur’s hair as softly as possible. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

When Arthur's eyes closed again, Merlin took the opportunity to press Arthur's limp hand to his mouth, careful not to move him overmuch. He knew that as soon as he arrived home he would need to heal him, and there would be no time for his feelings to interfere. Indeed, he was already picturing the spells and potions he would need, and hoped that Gilli would have the presence of mind at this time of night to be able to assist him. He couldn’t be sure Morgana would be able to focus properly; he was barely able to focus himself, the only thing driving him forward was the thought that he was the only one available to help him.

He spent a long and stressful night stabilizing Arthur’s ribs and healing his head as best he could. Head wounds were the trickiest, Gaius always said, and they would only be able to diagnose issues once Arthur was awake. Leon was a calm and comforting presence at the edge of the room, repeatedly assuring everyone from Merlin and Morgana to the servants that Arthur would be alright. Morgana eventually calmed herself enough to help Merlin heat water for fresh bandages and make Arthur’s bed more comfortable. 

“He’ll never want to sleep in a normal bed again,” she joked weakly several hours later when Merlin concluded what he could do without Gaius' guidance.

“Yes,” Merlin agreed. “He’ll be a right prat when he finds out that we’ve been hiding these spells from him.”

“Go to sleep, Merlin. Morgana and I will watch over him,” Leon told him. “And before you ask, we will let you know if anything happens.” 

Despite his exhaustion and his theories about sitting down, Merlin lay awake for a long time listening to the murmur of Morgana and Leon’s conversation, and let the tears drip into his ears. He didn’t want to lose him - not to his injuries, and not to his mistress. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Even if Arthur-- even _when_ Arthur recovered, he would leave Merlin. Their marriage wasn’t consummated, so it would be easy to file for a divorce, and Arthur loved her. If he thought it had been heartbreaking to read it, it was soul crushing to hear it from his lips. _I love you_. 

Gaius arrived the next morning before Arthur awoke, and Merlin made sure to greet him at the door, despite his lack of sleep. 

“You’ve been reading ahead in the _Physician’s Guide_ haven’t you?” Gaius asked when Merlin told him what he had done.

“Yes, sir.” 

“You did well, my boy. Very well. You have managed to reduce the swelling in both his head and his ribs, and that will prove key to his speedy recovery.

“Oh thank God,” Merlin breathed.

“Now. I believe it’s time to wake him up. Would you like to do the honors?” 

“Me? But I-”

“Merlin. Normally I would not give you a case such as this for a few months yet, but you have done well. Rest assured, I will step in if I think it necessary.”

“Onwaceþ.” Merlin focused on softly awakening Arthur, but he still jerked in pain when he awakened. “Hey clotpole,” he whispered.

Arthur seemed to calm when Merlin spoke and lifted his hand before gasping in pain and settling it back down on his blankets.

“What do you remember from last night?” Merlin asked gently, as he’d seen Gaius do with other head injury patients.

“I--I was in a fight.” 

“Good. Well,” Merlin grinned and gave Arthur some of the pain relief potion Gilli had prepared last night. “Not good. You fought a bird and lost, Arthur. I thought you were supposed to be some kind of fighting champion at your club!” Arthur opened his mouth to defend himself but Merlin cut him off. “Yes, yes. You were wearing a corset and skirts. No doubt Morgana will hold that over you for the rest of your life.”

Arthur groaned. “Of course she will, the harpy.” He looked around the room, probably to ensure that his sister wasn’t present, and found her asleep on a chair. He also seemed to notice Gaius for the first time. “Mr. Gaius.” He started to nod, but winced.

“Merlin tells me you were engaged in fisticuffs,” Gaius said. “I had wondered where you two disappeared to so early last night.”

_What?_ Merlin thought.

“Oh, you were there last night?” Arthur asked as Merlin seethed. 

“Yes, I was the-”

“Are you serious?! You made me work extra this week because, and I quote, ‘Magic shouldn’t be used for such frivolity’! And then you- Ugh! This is by far the worst news I’ve heard all week.” 

“Hey!” Arthur cut in, trying to sit up before Merlin and Gaius both pushed him back down. “Worse than me injuring myself? Gaius is allowed to have fun too.”

“Thank you, sir.” Gaius grinned.

“I cannot believe this, you’re teaming up against me! I should go to my mother’s, she wouldn’t stand for this.”

“Your mother loves me,” Arthur bragged.

“And that is my cue to leave. Merlin, I shall see you tomorrow, unless of course there are more complications, but as I said, I expect Mr. Pendragon to make a full recovery.”

“George will see you out,” Arthur told him before Merlin could offer to see him out himself.

“Merlin…” Arthur started when Gaius had left. His face was serious and more than a bit nervous.

Merlin knew what Arthur was about to say, and knew that he couldn’t let Arthur see his pain. 

"Are there any others you wish me to admit to your chambers while you recover?" Merlin smoothed the bedcovers as he asked, knowing that his smile did not reach his eyes. There was no answer however, and he was forced to look up.

Arthur looked adorably confused, and not in the way he had just after the fight. "Who else is there? Leon and Morgana have already seen me, and I'm not inviting your mother to see me like this."

"I'm trying to be supportive," Merlin answered, hating how his voice cracked with emotion. At Arthur's blank look, he spat out- "Your mistress! The one you love, that you're leaving me for!"

Arthur looked at him as if it were he who had been knocked out the night before. “Merlin, I’m not divorcing you.” 

“You can tell me, I can handle it." Merlin's voice was too high, and Arthur glared at him. "Well, I can handle it if it’s not Miss Tirmor, frankly if it’s Miss Tirmor I’m going to declare that you are medically crazy.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes. Merlin wondered if he felt comfortable enough to do that around _her_. 

“Merlin, I’m -- medically crazy?” 

“Only if you’re in love with Miss Tirmor,” Merlin reminded him. He waited with bated breath for Arthur’s answer; he was holding himself together with fraying threads of composure. 

“I’m not in love with Miss Tirmor, you idiot.” 

“Obviously. So who’s the lucky lady? Mithian?” 

Arthur clutched at his head with a groan in what seemed to be a combination of exasperation and pain. “You.” 

Merlin gaped at him. 

"I am glad I happened to buy that book," Arthur remarked a few days later.

He was trying to torture Merlin, repeatedly saying that he didn't love anyone else and he didn't even have a mistress. For the sake of his heart, Merlin was steadfastly refusing to believe anything he said until he was fully recovered. He had called Gaius in the day before to check for brain injuries, but Gaius had said he was recovering fine.

"Which book?"

"The magical healing one. Gaius said you wouldn't have been able to heal me without it." 

"Well that doesn't give you permission to injure yourself!! What if I was a horrible healer? What if I did something wrong and you-?" He turned away, swiping at his eyes. 

"I wasn't going to die, you idiot."

"You don't know that! And now you're, you're declaring love for me when I know it's not true!"

Arthur crossed his arms delicately over his chest. "And how do you know that?"

"Where should I start? First of all, you've been _polite_ to me for the past few months, and sending me unimportant messages and sweetmeats, and not bickering with me over the last piece of toast at breakfast, and the book was _clearly_ a bribe, and what else, oh yes, _the letter to Mithian which ended up in my rooms._ "

Arthur blinked at him. "You are the densest idiot I have ever met. In the top drawer of my desk is a newspaper clipping. Go get it, it should explain everything." 

Merlin did as his husband had asked. It read:

_ Two or three dears, and two or three sweets; _

_ Two or three balls, and two or three treats; _

_ Two or three serenades, given as lure; _

_ Two or three oaths how much they endure; _

_ Two or three messages sent in a day; _

_ Two or three soft speeches made by the way; _

_ Two or three tickets for two or three times; _

_ Two or three love letters writ all in rhymes; _

_ Two or three months keeping strict to those rules; _

_Can never fail making a couple_ ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛

_ -A Receipt for Courtship, by Lurie and Whittle of Fleet Street  _

"You were courting me?"

Arthur looked relieved. "Yes. Do you accept?"

"I do, clotpole. Except as I see it, you're not finished courting me yet. Aren't I supposed to accept your hand after you finish?"

"We did everything backwards anyway. It hardly matters."

"Hardly matters?" Merlin cleared his throat, thoroughly enjoying himself. "Two or  three dears, and two or three sweets," Merlin read, then lifted his head to look at Arthur. "You never called me dear."

"I did so!" Arthur thought for a moment before looking up triumphantly. "When we were discussing the menu for our dinner party last month - you insisted we serve pork and I said, 'Yes, dear.'"

"That does not count," Merlin insisted. "You were rolling your eyes at the time and the word dear was practically  _ drenched _ in sarcasm."

"There were other times, dear," Arthur said dismissively. 

"Just now does not count either,  _ dear. _ "

Arthur sighed. "I shall just have to continue courting you then, dear."

"Now," Merlin continued, "onto the sweets. It clearly states 'two or three' but I distinctly remember--"

"Now hang on," Arthur interrupted. "Are you going to criticize everything I did in courting you?"

Merlin grinned at him. "I definitely do not recall any serenading…"

"Oh, you think you can court better than I can?" Arthur goaded, falling right into Merlin's trap.

"You won't know what hit you, Arthur Pendragon."

"I think you'll find I know exactly what hit me," Arthur murmured, closing the space between them. The newspaper clipping fell from Merlin's hand as he grasped onto his husband's lapel to pull him into a heated kiss. 

"I love you, Arthur."  


"And I you, Merlin." 

"Now," Merlin pulled back and picked up the clipping. "What does this end bit mean? What did you cross out?" 

Arthur immediately looked guilty. "I didn't. I, uh, got it from Morgana." 

"You got your sister to help you court me?" Merlin asked gleefully. "Oh this has to be points in my favor. It has to rhyme with 'rules.'"

"Tools, mules, jewels..."

"Footstools..."

"Excuse me, sirs," George said from the entrance to the room. "It's 'fools.'"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to kill her," Arthur said, turning red. 

"We'll kill her together," Merlin assured him. "But first, we have much better things to do." 


End file.
